Unsuspecting alpha
by tronannihilator
Summary: This is my first fic. Please note that I have had no instruction on the matter. Alex Rider is sent on a nondescript mission in Beacon Hills for the CIA to hopefully take his mind off Jack. MI6, however, doesn't realise exactly how strange the case is, and Alex ends up bitten by a werewolf on the full moon. Alex is sent home, unsuspecting of the lycanthropic virus now in his DNA.


right, so this is my first fanfiction- basically a tester piece. I'd love some feedback, so in keeping with the multitude of other writers on this site I shall say "reviews are welcome!" Thanks, and please tolerate any mistakes I may have made.

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><p>"Alex, we're lending you to the CIA for a mission. A small town, called Beacon Hills-"<p>

"No." I glared at Mrs. Jones.

She sighed and glanced down at the mission file. "I know you are upset over the death of Jacqueline-"

"Jack."

"-Jack, which is why we are sending you on this mission. It's fairly laid back, and we hope it will help... Take your mind off things." She paused, as if expecting me to comment. I didn't, opting to stare stonily.

With a small sigh, she flipped the folder open and slid it in front of me. "Beacon Hills has witnessed a strong of unexplained attacks and murders in the past month. The CIA has already sent an agent in, to find out who- or quite possibly, what- has been killing people.

The agent managed to send in a report saying that the victims had been mauled, bitten by something with very large teeth- and yet, inconsistent with any known wolf, dog, mountain lion, or even reptilian predators. However, the bites- deep canine holes, consistent with wolves- suggest the attacker may be in the canine family, or it could just be a messed up human. The claws- assuming it is an animal- are in between a dog's and a large cat's, and very rough. Definitely not a knife wound.

"Another thing he found- all the victims were, in some way or another, connected with the local high school. The first victim was the bus driver. The next ones were mostly students. So, the most likely candidate for an attack being a student, that's what we will send you in as. Your cover story is that you're a student spending a few weeks studying abroad as part of a social customs study.

"Also, the family that you will be staying with, the Stalinskis, do not know of your involvement with the government. The father is the sherif, and the son is about your age- sixteen. The agent said that there was something strange about the boy. He knows something, as does his friend, Scott McCall. They may just be your link to the killer." Mrs. Jones stopped.

Something bugged me. "Why send me in over one report?" I asked. "What happened to the agent?"

Her lips thinned imperceptibly, something even I, as a trained spy, only just caught. "He has disappeared. Or, rather, most of him. A janitor found his hand in the mulch along the Western side of the school building." The small office descended into silence.

After a long moment's deliberation, I gritted my teeth and jerked my head in a short nod. "Fine. When will I leave?"

"Tomorrow," Mrs. Jones replied in her typical business like manner. Of course she knew I would accept... Eventually.

"Well, then I guess I'd better see Smithers, and then get packing," I said, standing and waiting for her consent.

"Go, do that," she said. I started to turn. "And Alex-" she said. I glanced back. "Be careful." And with that, I was out the door.

"Hey Scott!" Stiles called. I looked up from my locker. Stiles was jogging down the hall, trying to grab my attention by waving. I sent him a bemused look, which he returned with a slightly worried one.

He finally closed the distance and grabbed my shoulder. "Dude, you can't come over to my place for the full moon tomorrow," he rushed in a low voice.

I blinked. "What? Why not?"

He glanced around, making sure most people were out of earshot by this point. The last bell had already rung. "Look, there's this guy doing a foreign exchange program or something, from, like, England. Problem is, he's staying with us- and Dad only just mentioned this now, because he's picking the guy up from the airport!"

My eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Hey, Scott!" I heard for the second time. Shaking myself, I glanced back- and found beautiful, beautiful, Allison walking towards me with a grace I now knew came from hunting werewolves- it used to, anyway. Now it was mostly just her dad. I felt kind of guilty, but I was really glad her kill-crazy aunt wasn't around anymore.

"Hey, Allison," I replied, feeling the stupid grin spread across my face, not caring. I still couldn't believe that this awesome, beautiful girl actually liked me, despite the fact that I was a werewolf, and her family hunted werewolves. Totally freaking awesome.

"Hey," she said with a brilliant smile, coming up on my other side. "Dad's father- my grandfather- is coming in a couple days. He's even crazier about killing- um, wolves, than my aunt, but he's a lot subtler and smarter about it. I think he comes sometime this Saturday, so just- be careful," she finished in a rush, pulling me into a hug.

I kissed the top of her head before pulling away. "Allison, I can't go to Stiles' house for the full moon. Some foreign exchange student is staying with them for now, and I need a place to hide out. Any ideas?" I asked pleasingly. I knew full well that her house was off-limits.

She shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe... You could ask Derek?" I stopped. Huh.

"Maybe..." I hedged.

Stiles shot me a look. "You don't know if he's really good or not! C'mon, we still barely know the guy!"

I sighed. He was right. Maybe I could lock myself in the basement?

Stiles broke the short silence. "Oookay, I'm... Gunna go, I guess. Meet the new guy. So, I'll see ya?"

I nodded. "Yeah. See ya," I replied. My mind was still on possible options for tomorrow night. Mom would be home early, which I really hoped meant she would go to sleep early. With a quick peck from Allison, I left with my bag slung over my shoulder, still deep in thought.

"Alex, I would like you to meet my son, Stiles," Mr. Stalinski said with a tight smile.

"Yeah, um, hey, oh, hey, Alex, yeah, I'm-as dad said- Stiles! Nice to see you...?" He looked distracted. It didn't take much to figure our that Stiles wasn't the model of perfection his dad wanted, or even the 'good kid,' and that the sherif was often exasperated with him.

I snorted. "Nice to meet you, Stiles." I said it in such perfect imitation of his American accent that both of them stopped in surprise. I grinned, and was rewarded by an full smile on Stiles' part. That was good; I needed to make friends, get closer to them.

Adopting a lopsided grin, I asked, with my normal accent this time, "Show me around?" with a shrug. I could almost feel him scanning me. Finding nothing bad about my loose, friendly posture, he returned the shrug.

"Sure. You'll be sleeping in my room- c'mon- and there's the kitchen, mine and Dad's stuff is separately labelled in the fridge so don't eat it, and that's the study, you can grab any book you want off the shelves in there as long as it doesn't have an orange bookmark, which is Dad's way of claiming it as 'in the process of being read'..." Stiles babbled on. I partially zoned out, absorbing the information but focussing elsewhere. Namely, routes of escape, hiding places, etc.

"...should meet my friend Scott. You'd get along great. Today might work out- no, wait, he's on a date- but we can't go tomorrow, so-"

"Why not?" I interjected. I wanted to meet him as soon as possible.

"What?" Stiles asked, surprised by the interruption.

"Why can't we go tomorrow," I clarified.

"Oh, um, well..." He trailed off, muttering something about full moon and girlfriend's dad. I decided not to pry further for now.

"Right... How about I put my stuff up, and you can give me a short tour of the town?" I suggested. Stiles looked visibly relieved by the change in subject.

"Uh, yeah! Just throw your stuff on my bed- I'll go down to the jeep!" He said, hurrying from the room. I frowned. What had he meant by full moon? I knew he hadn't intended for me to actually hear it, but I couldn't get it out of my head. Something told me this would be central to the case. Maybe Beacon Hills' predator... I shrugged inwardly and tossed my duffel bag onto Stiles' bed, setting my suitcase just inside the door frame. Then I turned and trotted down the stairs, making sure my Smithers-made knife was tucked appropriately against my arm in its holder. The guns would remain in my suitcase for now.

"Aaaaand there's the high school. Scary place. Where bad memories are made," Stiles said with fake enthusiasm. "Seriously, I was stuck there one night with my friends. And a crazy murderer. I'm not even kidding." I raised an eyebrow.

"A crazed killer? Really?" I prompted.

He looked torn, by how much truth he could tell. And there was no mistaking it for anything but the truth- Stiles was a terrible liar.

"Um, yeah. It was me, Allison, Jackson, Lydia, and Scott." There was Scott again. "The power was out, and the doors and windows were locked tight. There was a janitor- but we found him later, when we were hiding under the bleachers. He..." Stiles gulped. "He was hanging there. And dripping... blood, everywhere. His throat was ripped open." He said it quietly. His face had gone slightly pale.

Damn, what had been going on here? I vaguely wondered if he'd seen a therapist.

"It had cut him open. Sliced up his arms. Gouged out his throat- it hadn't been enough to just cut it." He stopped abruptly and stared at the road.

It. He had said 'it.' Not a crazy murderer. Did that mean it was somehow both? Were we really dealing with a serial killer that liked chopping up its victims? But 'it'...

"Uh, there's the cafe... It has good coffee," Stiles said, in weak imitation of his earlier chipper self. "And the vet clinic where Scott works..."

Target. A place I might find him. Eventually, we got through most of the town, and into a stretch of woods that wasn't far from Stiles' house. Stiles automatically seemed wary, shifting his gaze into the trees on either side of the road.

Suddenly, he mashed the brakes, bringing the jeep to a squealing halt. There, in the road before us, lay a ripped and torn deer carcass. Getting out to take a closer look, I couldn't help but feel slightly sick. The side of its rib cage had been eaten, or torn away, leaving dangling skin in the open cavity. One of its back legs had been savaged, almost ripped clean away- it wasn't hard to tell what had brought it down. Not that the other legs didn't have hideous bite marks- and claw wounds, I noted with a shiver. Too large for any cat. Too widely spaced for a canine. It was fresh.

"Well. It weren't killed by no car," I said to Stiles in a wry hick accent. He shot me a look.

"Yeah. Let's go," he said, casting nervous glances at the trees. I followed him into the jeep, on edge. Judging by Stiles' fear of something happening, I figured this was probably a hotspot for the killer. I sighed; I'd have to come back tomorrow night. But tonight, I just needed rest.

Stiles and I reached his house without incident. Near nine, I unpacked some of my things and set up sheets on the spare mattress, grabbing a duvet from the linen closet. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out. Not fully, not really, I was still awake enough to survey my surroundings subconsciously, but I would be rested come morning. So I slept.


End file.
